


Here to There

by alessandralee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandralee/pseuds/alessandralee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jemma's graduation, she and Grant set out on a road trip from Boston to Portland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here to There

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ward/Simmons Winter, Prompt 3 (Roadtrip AU).

**DAY ONE: BOSTON, MA TO BUFFALO, NY**

“You own a lot of crap,” Grant comments, as he slams the trunk door shut.

“That’s what happens when you live six years in the same place,” Jemma finishes loading the last of her stuff into the backseat. “Now aren’t you glad I insisted on a larger vehicle?”

Grant sighs and stares at the aforementioned vehicle, “It’s a minivan.”

“It’s practical,” Jemma tells him. “and we only have to drive it to Portland. Then we turn it in, so stop acting like it’s an affront to your masculinity.”

They’ve had this conversation before.

“And if it is an affront to my masculinity?” he asks.

Jemma crinkles her nose in consideration, “Then your masculinity must be quite weak and fragile.”

That shuts him up.

“That should be everything,” Grant announces as she wedges the last of Jemma’s things against a window.

“I have a checklist,” Jemma says as she lets herself into the passenger seat.

“Of course you do.”

She ignores his comment, “Maps?”

“Check.”

“GPS?”

“We have the maps, we don’t need a GPS,” he insists.

“Yes, well the GPS is for when your maps get us lost and you refuse to ask for your directions,” Jemma says. “Because that would be yet another insult to your fragile masculinity.”

“That’s not going to happen. I have an excellent sense of direction,” he argues.

She could push the issue further, but she’s just not willing to start arguing this early in the trip.

She settles on saying, “It would make me more comfortable to have a back-up plan, even if we don’t end up using it.”

“Fine,” he agrees. They move on.

“Phones?” Jemma takes hers out of her pocket and holds it up.

“Check.”

“Music?” Jemma holds up a cable for her iPod and Grant pulls out a large CD case. “Check. Phone charger is in my purse, which just leaves snacks.”

Grant reaches back and taps the small cooler nestled behind the driver’s seat, “Check.”

“Alright, then we’re good to go,” she says. “And Grant?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for flying out to do this.”

He rests a hand on her thigh, “My pleasure. And it’s like I told you, I have the vacation days saved up.”

She laughs, “I hardly think lugging all my thing across the country qualifies as a vacation.”

“It does is I’m with you,” he says, laying the corniness on thick. “And besides, I’m excited to have you nearby again.”

“Me too,” she agrees. “This last year has been a rough one without you.”

“But we made it work,” he adds.

Jemma nods, “We certainly did. But now we don’t have to worry about that. We’ll be in the same city, in the same apartment—“

“In the same bed,” Grant says.

“Yes, that too. It’s going to be wonderful.”

He nods, “You say that because you’ve forgotten how much decorating I’ve done.”

“I look forward to the blank palette, even if I do think it’s weird that you’ve put up two posters over the course of the year,” she shrugs.

“What’s the point, when I knew you’d want to redecorate?”

And with that, Grant puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the apartment parking lot.

\--

“This is nice,” Jemma says, waking up from her nap to the sunlight streaming into the warm car and music playing softly over the radio.

“You say that now,” Grant replies, “but we’re only three hours into a forty-six hour trip.”

“How much longer ‘til we get to Buffalo?” she asks.

“If traffic stays good, just under four hours,” he tells her.

“And how much longer until we stop for a break?”

“If the traffic stays good, just under four hours,” he repeats.

Jemma crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him, “That’s not going to work for me. Pretty soon I’m going to need a bathroom break and a lunch stop.” The clock on the dashboard reads 11:48AM.

“We have snacks,” Grant reminds her. “And I brought a container for if we need to go.”

Jemma unbuckles herself and search the through the stuff in the back seat, “We have water, and apples, and granola bards in the cooler. That’s not a meal. I’m going to need—you’ve got to be kidding me.”

She turns forward, back into her seat, and holds up a disposable water bottle, “Is this the container you’re referring to?”

He nods.

“Grant, you’re twenty-four years old, do I really need to explain female anatomy to you?” she asks. “I can’t use this, not without some serious assistance.”

“Calm down, Jem,” Grant says, spotting a sign on the side of the road. ‘There’s a rest stop in thirty-seven miles, do you think you can hold it until then?”

“You’d better hope I can,” Jemma threatens, leaning back against her seat.

\--

“How many more times do we have to do that?” Jemma asks, grabbing her small suitcase out of the van. “Because that was exhausting.”

“If all goes according to plan,” Grant responds, “then six.”

Jemma lets out a quiet groan.

“And tomorrow’s going to be the longest leg of the trip,” he adds.

“But then we get the next day off, right? To do sightseeing?”

He’d promised her a day of sightseeing.

“Yes, we get the next day off to do sightseeing in Chicago,” Grant tugs on the suitcase in Jemma’s hands, trying to get her to let go of it so he can carry it in. “Although, if we chose not to spend the second night and got a head start on the drive to Omaha—“

“Absolutely not,” Jemma pulls back on her bag. She’s perfectly capable of carrying it herself. “There’s a lot to do in Chicago, and I intend to make the most of it. I’m planning a full itinerary.”

“Of course you are,” Grant teases. She’s predictable like that. “Do I get any input.”

Jemma smirks, “If you’re lucky I’ll let you pick a museum.” She fishes a green folder out of her bag and starts walking to the hotel entrance.

“You are too kind,” he follows her. “Don’t forget to schedule a little waterfront relaxation in there. I’d like to be able to rest my legs in between all the museums.”

“That’s what the drive to Omaha is for,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Assuming my legs still work at that point,” he tells her. “You’re driving part of that, you know. And part of the drive to Chicago, too. All the drives, actually. I let you off the hook today, because you seemed tired from packing and all the graduation stuff.”

Jemma pouts, “But what I forget which side of the road to drive on? You can’t trust a Brit not to switch to the left.”

It’s a terrible attempt to sway him, and it doesn’t work.

“You never had a problem driving in Boston,” he reminds her. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Jemma sighs.

It doesn’t take them long to check in and catch an elevator up to their room.

“So how do you want to spend our evening in Buffalo?” Grant asks, dropping his bag in front of the window and taking in the view of the city. There’s a large church-looking building the next block over.

Jemma’s already sprawled out on the bed.

“Let me guess,” he answers for her, “a nap, then dinner, then a lazy night in?”

“Sounds like paradise,” Jemma sighs, eyes closed.

“I will agree to a nap and dinner,” Grant says. He’s pretty tired from the drive, too. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing some of the city afterwards.”

“Yes, fine, whatever you say,” Jemma agrees sleepily. “As long as I can have my nap first.”

She pats the spot on the bed next to her and Grant gets in.

“I’m setting an alarm,” he says. “One hour.”

But she’s already asleep.

\--

 

**DAY TWO: BUFFALO, NY TO CHICAGO, IL**

“You snore,” Grant tells her over breakfast.

“I do not,” she insists.

“Very lightly, but I definitely heard snoring.”

Jemma rolls her eyes and chews a bit of her waffle before saying, “We’ve been together for two years and you’re just now mentioning this?”

Grant shakes his head, “That’s the thing, you never used to.”

Now Jemma can’t help but laugh at him, “So what you’re telling me is that sometime in the year since you graduated, no, the two months since I flew out to see you, I’ve started snoring?”

“Exaclty.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous,” she tells him.

He shrugs, “I’m just telling you what I head. You snore.”

\--

“Pull off at the next exit,” Jemma instructs Grants an hour and a half into their drive.

“Why?”

“There was no hot water for tea, so I had to resort to coffee this morning,” is all she says.

“Okay…” he trails off questioningly, not really sure what he’s supposed to glean from that statement.

“And now I need to use the bathroom,” she explains.

“Already?” he groans. H was really hoping they wouldn’t have to stop until lunch.

“Caffeine is a diuretic,” she informs him. “It promotes the production of urine.”

Grant sighs, “Fine, but in case you forgot, every time you make us stop, that’s time we’re not spending in Chicago.”

“Oh well, in the case, I’ll just hold it until I explode,” Jemma snaps.

“You’re not going to explode.”

“Which on of us has her doctorate in biochemistry? Do you want the lecture on the negative effects of not urinating when you feel the need?”

“No ma’am,” Grant shakes his head emphatically.

It diffuses the tension building in the van.

Jemma smiles, “That is the correct answer.”

\--

“At least the view is nice,” Jemma slouches in her seat to relieve the pain building in her lower back.

Grant glances briefly away from the road to take in the sight of Lake Erie.

“I guess,” he says.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Jemma says pointedly at him.

She’s surprised he doesn’t. Usually he’s the one who’s all about the beauty of nature. Jemma’s mostly interested in the science behind it, delicately balanced ecosystems and mating patterns and plant growth.

Grant once said she’s a pain to take hiking because she’s rather stop every five minutes to study moss than take in the majesty of a waterfall waiting at the end of the trail.

That’s why she works in a lab and he works for a non-profit.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asks, concerned by his out of character behavior.

“I’m just getting tired of driving,” he answers. “I’m pulling over near Cleveland and you can drive for an hour or two.”

She doesn’t want to, as she said yesterday, but it doesn’t escape Jemma’s notice that being stuck behind the wheel of a car has left Grant feeling out of sorts. He’s fidgeting in his seat, something she’s never seen him do before, and Jemma assumes it’s because he’s trying to alleviate the pain of sitting in one position for so long. His jaw is locked and his hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly.

But he’s not complaining. Jemma certainly wouldn’t be able to say the same if she was the one who had driven all this way.

“Okay,” she agrees. “But we’re stopping for lunch in Cleveland.”

He starts to argue, but Jemma cuts him off, “We have all day to make it to Chicago. It’s not going anywhere. Even if we stop for a long lunch, we’ll be there before dinner.”

Grant nods and switches lanes to he can get off at the appropriate exit.

\--

“I hate driving,” Jemma mutters as an old man in a red BMW cuts her off. It’s her second driving shift and she’s just about had it with all the other cars on the road.

“So you’ve mentioned,” Grant sounds amused.

Jemma’s also starting to regret how hard she lobbied for the minivan. It’s harder to maneuver than the small car she drove in Boston and there’s so much stuff piled in the back seats that she’s struggling to see out the rearview mirror.

Did she really need to bring those plastic storage cubes? They had seemed so practical just days ago, but now all she could think about was how she could probably buy something just as functional and more attractive once they got to Portland.

“How much longer?” she asks, fully aware that she’s whining, but not really caring.

“Pull over in a half hour and I’ll drive the rest of the way,” Grant tells her.

She can do that. And then tomorrow she can enjoy a full day of walking and public transportation and not being trapped in this tight space.

\--

 

**DAY FOUR: CHICAGO, IL TO OMAHA, NE**

Their day in Chicago goes well, and when it comes time to head to Omaha, both Grant and Jemma are feeling relaxed.

“We should consider taking another day off from driving at some point,” she suggests once Grant has maneuvered the minivan out of the city and onto the highway.

Grant is feeling good enough that he doesn’t reject the idea outright.

Jemma considers that a good first step and decides she’ll push for a day off in Salt Lake City. They’ll probably need one by then, if their first two days of traveling were any indication

\--

Jemma is woken up from another light name by the sound of someone singing.

She opens her eyes just a crack to take in the sight of Grant singing alone to the Backstreet Boys. She didn’t even know he was familiar with them. He’s not much of a pop music kind of guy.

He softly taps his hands against the steering wheel as he sings, and Jemma thinks it’s adorable. He’s rarely this unguarded.

Of course she ruins it all by failing to contain her giggles.

As soon as they escape her mouth, his lips purse tightly and his hands grip the steering wheel firmly again.

“I was starting to doze off,” he explains, turning the radio off. “I needed some way to keep myself awake.”

“Well don’t stop on my account,” she tells him. “I find it extremely endearing.”

“I’m good,” he says.

But Jemma won’t take no for an answer. She reaches over and turns the radio back on, before pressing the back button on her iPod to restart the song.

“You are my fire,” she sings loudly, knowing full well that she sounds awful. She was never much of a singer, something her friend Skye never tired of pointing out, “the one desire. Believe when I say I want it that way.”

Grant studiously ignores her, focusing on the road ahead. But that doesn’t deter Jemma.

“But we are two worlds apart, can’t reach to your hear when you say that I want it that way,” she continues.

Realizing that she’s not just going to give up, Grant reluctantly jumps in on the chorus, “Tell me why, ain’t nothing but a heartache…”

Of course, Jemma’s enthusiasm is infectious, and soon enough they’re both dueting dramatically. It sounds awful, but they’re certainly enjoying themselves.

\--

“So what is there to do in Omaha?” Grant asks as they get closer to the city.

He’s not surprised when Jemma pulls a thick pile of papers out of her bag and starts thumbing through them.

“Well there’s a few restaurants near the hotel that look good,” she tells him.

“Jem, it’s 3:30. We can worry about dinner later,” he says.

She sticks her tongue out at him with a grin.

“There’s also an art museum, a contemporary art museums and, ooh you’ll like this, an air and space museum,” she holds up a sheet of paper. “I’ll put that to the side. There’s also a Latino art and history museum, a park, an old mill, a restored home from the 1800s and an amusement park.”

“I wouldn’t mind the amusement park either,” Grant comments.

“I guess,” Jemma pulls that paper out of her pile, too, “But I’m not eating carnival food.”

Grant shrugs, “Then we can go after dinner and do the air and space museum first.”

“Okay,” Jemma sounds excited again. “I think this is our exit coming up.”

\--

**DAY FIVE: OMAHA, NE TO CHEYENNE, WY**

“Are we lost?” Jemma asks, looking out the window. She’s 99% certain Grant took an exit he wasn’t supposed to.

“No,” Grant tells her, “we’re taking a shortcut.”

“I can take the GPS out,” she offers, not trusting this shortcut of his.

“I don’t need to use the GPS. We only brought it so you’d feel better.”

Jemma’s eyes widen in disbelief and she reaches for the glove compartment, “No, it’s here for when you get us lost but refuse to admit it.”

“We’re not lost,” Grant insists again. “I know exactly where we are.”

He gestures towards a sign on the side of the road.

Jemma turns on the GPS, “Oh really? And how far out of he way is Pawnee National Grassland?”

Frustrated, Grant pulls over to the side of the road and grabs the map out from between the seats. While he consults that, Jemma types their destination into the GPS.

“Grant, we’re going south when we should be going north,” she sounds cross.

“No, we’re not.”

“So the GPS is lying?” it’s a rhetorical question, but Grant answers nonetheless.

“Technology is fallible, Jem. Not like a map.”

“Oh, don’t be so condescending,” she snaps and rips the map from his hands. It takes her just a moment to spot their current location.

“Okay this is where we were,” she runs her fingers along the line for Interstate 80. “And this is where we want to go,” she continues tracing that line all the way to Cheyenne. “And this is the ridiculous detour you’ve deemed a shortcut,” she pokes the green spot on the map that reads ‘Pawnee National Grassland. “Notice how it’s heading away from the road we want to be on.”

Angrily, Grant takes the map back from her and throws it in the backseat.

“Well what does your GPS say we should do now?” he huffs.

“Keep going,” she instructs glumly. “We have to go all the way through the Grassland, then east, then back up north to Cheyenne.”

“Fine,” Grant pulls back onto the road.

“It adds another hour onto the trip,” she can’t resist that comment.

\--

The rest of the drive passes in tense silence. Jemma evens lets the GOS do the talking when it comes to directions.

She checks them in at the hotel while Grant waits in the car. They head up to their room still in silence.

“Is there anything to do nearby?” Grant asks calmly, after they’ve unpacked their toiletries. “Is there anything to do in Cheyenne at all?” He doesn’t expect Wyoming to be a particularly interesting stop.

“I have some reading to do,” Jemma pulls her tablet out of her bag, “but you can ask at the front desk if they have any suggestions.”

Her tone is light, but it’s obvious she still angry with him.

“Are you seriously still mad?” he asks, now just as annoyed. He thought things would blow over as soon as they got out of such cramped quarters.

“Not at all, I just have a lot of reading to take care of before I start my new job and I don’t want it to get overwhelming,” she tells him with that same false lightness.

He doesn’t buy it for a second. Jemma doesn’t like to argue, but it’s always easy to tell when she’s pissed.

“Fine,” Grant throws his hands up in frustration. “I’ll be back later.” 

Then he storms out of the room.

Jemma spends the next few hours reading and using the hotel Wi-Fi to check her email. There’s a welcome email from her soon to be boss, Anne Weaver.

She expects Grant to be back in time for dinner, but by 7:30 he still hasn’t reappeared. So she grabs her wallet and heads out to dine alone.

Jemma settles into a booth at a Mexican restaurant a couple of blocks over. She’d found a list of nearby restaurants in the hotel lobby.

She orders a margarita and chicken fajitas, then checks her phone. Still no word from Grant. The fact that she’s eating Mexican, his favorite, without him might be spiteful, but tonight she doesn’t care.

Grant’s not there when she returns to their room, but his jacket is no longer draped over the chair in the corner of the room, so she thinks it’s safe to assume nothing horrible has happened to him. He’s probably avoiding her though, and that ruins whatever calm she’d found over dinner.

In the end, she decides to call it an early night. She’s in her pajamas and under the covers a little after 9:30. Of course she’s too wired to fall asleep right away, tossing and turning for about an hour, until she hers Grant’s key in the door.

She’s pretends to be asleep when he enters the room. Without turning the room lights on, he brushes his teeth, undresses, and climbs into bed. They both lie next to each other, not touching, until they fall asleep.

\--

**DAY SIX: CHEYENNE, WY TO SALT LAKE CITY, UT**

“You’re still mad at me,” Grant comments when Jemma opts to read the newspaper over breakfast, rather than talk to him.

“It’s downgraded from anger to annoyance, but yes,” she replies.

Despite her overall sunshiney disposition, Jemma can certainly hold a grudge. Grant can too, so while they fight infrequently, those fights can get pretty drawn out and vicious. But spending a year on opposite sides of the country has them out of practice, and he’s slept off most of his anger.

“I’m sorry,” he says, once the waitress drops off his eggs and Jemma’s pancakes.

“For what?” she asks, focusing on spreading butter on her breakfast, rather than on him. Of course she’s not going to make this easy.

Grant takes a moment to put together his thoughts as he cuts into his poached eggs and lets the yolk run over his toast.

“I’m sorry I got us lost and refused to admit it,” he tells her, hoping that’s enough.

“And?” she prompts.

He thinks harder, “I’m sorry I insulted your GPS?”

The look on her face makes it clear she was looking for a different answer.

“Did you have a good time last night, wherever it was that you went?” she asks. It’s a loaded question.

Grant takes a bite out of a piece of bacon before responding, “I’m sorry about that, too. I found a bar that was playing the game,” Jemma assumes he’s referring to football, “and the Patriots were getting destroyed, so I got a little bit distracted.” Grant’s hatred for the Patriots is legendary amongst their friends, especially because he’s a Boston native.

“So you spent all night in a bar watching football?” Jemma asks, even though she knows he came back to the room at some point.

“No, but by the time I came back, you’d already left for dinner. I figured you’d be even more pissed at that point, so I didn’t call,” he explains.

“And didn’t come back until after I’d gone to bed,” she adds.

Grant bows his head apologetically, “Yeah, that probably wasn’t me best idea.”

“It really wasn’t.”

Jemma considers his apology for a moment before saying, “Fine, but we’re taking a day of in Salt Lake City tomorrow.”

Grant wants to argue. It’s less than a five-hour drive from Salt Lake to Boise, so they’ll already have most of that day off to relax. He might have taken extra days off from work to account for travel delays, but that time would be more practically spent unpacking.

Still, he’d rather not spend the next six and a half hours trapped in a car with an angry Jemma Simmons. That alone is worth sacrificing a day.  
“Whatever you want,” he agrees.

Instantly, the tension in Jemma’s posture loosens and she smiles.

“Excellent.”

\--

**DAY EIGHT: SALT LAKE CITY, UT TO BOISE, ID**

Normally, Jemma is an early riser, up and ready to go even before she’s had her first cup of tea. But today, when Grant’s 6:00AM alarm goes off, all she wants to do is burrow under the covers and never come out.

“Rise and shine,” Grant says, after he’s leaned over her to the turn the beeping alarm off.

Jemma just groans and pulls the covers over her head. If she doesn’t get up, then she doesn’t have to get in that stupid minivan.

She should have just hired a moving company and flown out the Portland. That’s what Fitz had done; their new jobs had even given them a stipend for moving expenses. But still she’d thought that spending every waking (and sleeping) moment with her boyfriend on a cross-country drive would be a better idea.

She was wrong.

“You okay?” Grant tugs down gently on the comforter covering Jemma’s face.

“Fine,” she replies.

“Not looking forward to more driving?” he guesses.

“What if we just stayed in Salt Lake City forever?” she suggests.

Grant shakes his head in amusement, “Then I’d get fired.”

“Check out’s not ‘til eleven,” Jemma says. “We could sleep in.”

Once again, the pleasantness of their previous day off must be getting to Grant, because he doesn’t immediately start talking about making good time or hitting traffic (which he’s actually managed to avoid for the most part). He doesn’t look entirely convinced though.

So Jemma decides to change strategies and swing the odds in her favor. She shimmies closer to Grant and slides one hand up his chest.

“Check out’s not ‘til eleven,” she repeats suggestively. “I can think of a good way to spend that time.”

He hesitates for a moment, but the look in his eyes as his body shifts closer to her makes it pretty clear she’s gotten her way.

“I know you’re manipulating me,” he says, as his hand slides under her shirt and up her side.

She considers playing innocent, but it’s pointless. Her intentions are pretty obvious and, even if they weren’t, Grant (and Fitz, and Skye, and practically every person she’s ever met) can tell when she’s lying.

“Are you bothered by that?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“Not at all,” he kisses her first on the lips, then moves onto her neck.

\--

“Look man, I’ll ask, but don’t be surprised if she says no,” Grant says into his cellphone. That finally draws Jemma’s attention away from the road. “I’ll call you back.” He hangs up.

“What am I probably saying no to?” she asks, concerned.

“How do you feel about beagles?” he asks.

“Grant, we talked abot this,” Jemma can feel the urge to lecture coming on. “Repeatedly.”

Grant’s wanted a dog since before he moved out to Portland, and he finally has an apartment that allows pets. He’s done all the research and narrowed down breeds, but Jemma’s insisted that they wait until she’s completely settled in (still, every time she came out to Portland for a visit this past year, she’s been secretly worried that Grant will suddenly have a dog she never agreed to).

It’s odd, though, because she’s pretty sure beagles aren’t on Grant’s list of ideal dog candidates. He doesn’t want anything small enough to be confused with a large cat in the middle of the night (although why he would think a large cat lived in their apartment is beyond Jemma’s understanding).

“Not permanently,” Grant tells her, “just for a few days. My buddy Trip from works has a beagle named Commando.”

“Can beagles be therapy dogs?” Jemma asks.

 

“It’s not common, but she’s actually really great with the kids,” he shrugs. “A lot of the ones who are afraid of the bigger dogs really like her.”

Jemma nods, accepting his answer.

“Anyways, his mom and grandparents are making a last minute visit,” Grant continues, “and his grandma’s allergic to anything with fur. So he needs someone to take Commando for a few days.”

“How long is a few days,” Jemma asks. She’ll have a little over a week to get settled once they get to Portland.

“Five days starting the morning after we get home,” the smiles Grant gives her is both pleading and hopeful.

Having a dog underfoot while she tries to fit all of her stuff into the apartment is going to be incredibly impractical. But she knows Trip is a good friend of Grant’s, and it can’t hurt to ingratiate herself to him early on.

Not to mention the fact that her boyfriend has sacrificed over a week of his vacation time to help her drive across the country. Five days with Commando the dog is a small way to show her gratitude. 

“Okay, but that means we have to start unpacking tomorrow afternoon,” she tells him. “Not procrastinating.”

Grant’s face lights up like a Christmas tree, “You’re the best,” he tells her, leaning over to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Let me call Trip back now and tell him.”

\--

****

**“Only six hours and forty-two minutes,” Jemma announces excitedly, as Grant backs out of their hotel parking spot.**

**“That’s assuming we don’t hit any traffic,” Grant points out. He decides to indulge her enthusiasm for the GPS that’s given them this information. After all, he’s looking forward to getting home, too.**

**“And it would be even less if you didn’t insist on going no more than five miles above the speed limit,” Jemma complains teasingly.**

**“Hey it’s a limit for a reason,” he defends himself.**

**“It’s all right,” she pants him on the leg, “I’ll make up for it when I get behind the wheel.”**

**Suddenly, Grant’s pretty certain that he won’t be giving up his spot in the driver’s seat on this final leg of their trip.**

**\--**

**“So there’s a sit down diner or pizza or McDonald’s,” Grant reads the sign at the rest stop entrance. “Which one do you want?”**

**“Fast food,” Jemma says definitively. “I don’t care much what kind, though.”**

**Grant raises an eyebrow in amusement, “Oh how the tables have turned. Little miss stop and smell the roses just wants to get in and get out as fast as she can.”**

**Jemma rests her hands on her hips and looks up at him, “I’ve been patient for the last nine days. Not I just want to be done with this trip.**

**“In that case,” Grant nudges her forwards, “the line for pizza is shorter.”**

**Once they’ve gotten their food, they grab seats at a booth table. Jemma take a long sip from her lemonade before biting into her pizza.**

**“So much longer do we have?” Grant asks. He had to convince her to put the GPS on silent after about an hour of its constant nagging.**

**“Just under three hours,” Jemma tells him. They did hit a small patch of traffic earlier, but it hadn’t put them too far behind schedule.**

**Grant nods and eats his food. That should give him plenty of time to turn into work before they have to worry about dinner. He doesn’t think he left much in fridge before he left for Boston, but he’s also just plain sick of eating out.**

**Oh well, he’ll worry about dinner once they’re home.**

**They eat quickly and quietly for the most part, both eager to get back on the road. As far as they’re concerned, the next three hours can’t pass fast enough.**

**\--**

**“We’re home,” Jemma practically cheers as soon as the entrance to the Tahitian Palms apartment complex comes into view.**

**Grant doesn’t say anything, but looks just as pleased as she is.**

**“I swear, I’m not settling foot in another car for a week,” she tells him. She still has ten days until she and Fitz start their new lab positions.**

**“I wish I could do that,” Grant punctuates his statement with a groan. “I’ve gotta get back to work tomorrow.”**

**“Well I’m sure the kids and the dogs will be happy to see you,” Jemma replies.**

**He’ll be happy to see them too. Even with all the driving he’s had to do these last nine days, he still feels like he’s had way too much downtime. It’ll be good to get back into his usual routine.**

**“So do you want to unpack immediately?” he asks after he’s parked the minivan.**

**Jemma looks into the backseat with disdain, “What I want is to sleep for the next month,” she says, “but I suppose and hour or so will do.”**

**She does carry an armload of stuff up to the apartment, though, to save herself a trip later.**

**“Oh and Grant,” she says as they make their way up the stairs.**

**“Yeah?” he’s carrying two large storage boxes, but doesn’t seem to be straining at all.**

**“Next time we fly.”**

**“Absolutely.”**


End file.
